


Illuminated Manuscript

by Zugzwang (thunderdone)



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Asexual!Josh, Blurryface, Books, Clique - Freeform, Gen, actually both in this are ace/aro, asexual!tyler, dunno if I should tag the italics as blurry, library fic, mild anxiety but nothing world shattering, other emo band tags, probably lots of nerd references and science fiction, sort of are, tøp - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 02:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderdone/pseuds/Zugzwang
Summary: Now and then your small choices matter greatly. Now and then small habits become choices. Now and then you make a friend.AKA Tyler is a librarian who showcases LGBT literature when he can and someone picks up on it.





	Illuminated Manuscript

**Author's Note:**

> I work at a library and then read three library fics and got cocky. Also all these books are real but I've only read one. Also still gotta hammer out an edit of this so far. Whoops. ♡♡

Each morning, since he changed the song of his alarm at the beginning of the month, the Lumineers' tang is soured slightly. Ophelia was the first victim of the morning's step, trading off seven days later to Cleopatra, then to Angela. Their voices remained the same, but each one brought about, once their nature was established, negative connotations, albeit temporary, maybe lasting another week or so after their final morning show.

Their private show wasn't long, or well received any of the mornings. Merely a couple seconds at most, and Tyler wasn't one to squander the little time he gave himself, and those days which did leave him starting his day a little more disheveled than preferred were not wasted away without meaning. In the eyes of the perfect human, they were possibly wasted, but a perfect human cannot appreciate the art of the world. Those colors Mother Nature waters the sky with do not go unnoticed by the imperfect.

With the morning air appreciated, or given a distasteful acknowledgement at least, the Lumineers would be cut short, silenced until the next morning. The floor, as usual, would be cold and unappealing, yet the chill and knowledge of it spurred Tyler to action. Action meant warmth through both the end intention and the present approach. The present approach was not exciting, merely the removal of a comforter and placement of bare feet upon hard wood, spurring the movement to the bathroom for the bliss of unadulterated heat.

Showering was short, silent, and forgotten amid the throng of later day's excitement, like the feeling of sun once back outside the bedroom, pouring in the left window, across his bed, spilling over the floor. The press of sun against skin for a few seconds evoked an unheeded drop of the former bliss that was a shower. The true epitome of heavenly bliss was realized in Mother Nature's single gaze. Although basking in the sun for the day seemed like a lovely concept, letting the rays wash over, peel away the ceasing cells covering his skin, money was an essential evil which expected particular things, such as clothes.

Although the pull of a graphic tee was strong, the expectation and outcome of continuing to have a job was more. Button down shirt, monochromatic jeans, shoes that are comfortable. Always that. Always in that order. Always leading, then, to breakfast, or the scraps one could consider breakfast. Tea was liminal, lifting the lifeless Tyler to the threshold of competence and, later, pushing him from sheer inertia to energy. Toast was merely a background harmony to the sweet pull of tea, before the pull of time out the door to the train station.

Each day was like this. Not as poetic, in practice, novel only to the outside observer, nominal to the actor. Each morning led into the day led into time home led to nights alone or accompanied by thoughts led to morning once again. Not that there were any complaints from Tyler about that. Routine kept him functioning best, better than the grind of inactivity on his nerves, knowing there had to be something to do, something he was forgetting, a reason he shouldn't just sit down and wait. Routine accompanied him over to the Red Line, onto the 8:10 train to two stations down, up the stairs and down three blocks to his job: The library.

Creatures of habit as well, the pigeons were there, by the back door. Of course. He wasn't the ones that cursed them out of the way, that was, of course, Jenna's job. It was his job to keep them coming back for more with bread in the evenings. Carefully stepping through their bulking bodies, he unlocks the back door, disarming the alarm once inside. First one here, an hour before opening? The best. But- Was it? Jenna was usually there before him. Could anything have ha-

"Tyler!"

There was also the infinite possibility that Jenna was there. And... He didn't turn off the alarm? No, that would mean-

She was breathless as she approached, yet smiling, at the very least. Although, there could be a hint of frustration between her teeth. Both of her hands rested on her hips as she stopped a foot or so in front of Tyler.

"I was just in the attic, I came out and heard the alarm-"

"Yeh, I'm real sorry about that, it was a long night." As Tyler spoke, he extended his hand, grimacing away the mistake as best he could. It'd come back, of course, later in the day, possibly when the sun blinked down. Probably, even: his work kept his logic churning faster than his creativity.

"What did we need up there?"

"Lights. Putting away the Christmas ones. I would've figured that, you know, the person who was assigned to the children's section would've handled it, but that's my mistake, for believing someone would do their job." This was accompanied by a knowing nod from both parties.

He wasn't assigned to children's last, right? Thankfully, no. Jenna's mild frustration was not directed at him or indirectly pushed toward him. Sure, he went through the day's checklists, more often than was needed even, but there was always still that voice that says, 'You forgot something.'

As Tyler headed over to the closet, dropping his bag down and checking a tiny mirror hung inside the door, Jenna went in the opposite direction, over to the staff whiteboard, hands already busy pulling her hair up.

"The page called in... Yesterday, I think, and Vanessa has the week off still, so you're on shelving, and I'm... Binding and labels."

"Wanna trade?"

"I'll pass."

"You sure? You don't want to... Hang out in the isles for four hours? Get a scope on some new books to read?"

Jenna feigned consideration, doing what she could to bring humor to Tyler's dark situation. "I would? But I'm still slogging through Heartbreaking Genius, I don't need w new book yet."

With an exaggerated sigh, Tyler shook his head, checking the carts filled with books in the back. Out front, the circulation desk thankfully had one double decker shelf, and there was one empty one in the back, just outside the break room and to the left of the shelves of DVDs, all stacked and lined up and... Squished. Someone would have to shift sometime soon. Not him. He is owed, already, and now that he's assigned to shelving? Doubly so.

The process was simple and familiar: the horrors of page-hood and interactions with patrons, our of the blue, never left one's memory. Move one side of the double sided shelves of checked in books to a single sided cart to travel around and pack in the books, around the adult section first, then to the forsaken realm of the Children's Room. His hands were familiar with the motions, eyes with the letters he had seen for as long as he lived, so the organizing wasn't a problem.

The problem was the emptiness. There was a particular silence to the library that could be welcome in the presence of others. Yet, when one was alone, surrounded by people's half assed attempts at a legacy, their last screams to the sky in the hope they would not be forgotten, the silence of thoughts bore down and became ever present. Books were both an outlet and a plug for these ideas: the early hundreds in the nonfiction filled with Kierkegaard and Camus were the starting energies to a mind filled with words you don't want, eight hundred eleven to eight hundred twenty five or so a good suction, reforming those thoughts you don't want. The silence and content of a library made existential crises unavoidable and endless in the timeless isles.

While working at the circulation desk, Tyler had a way to avoid the illusory nature of the library: Jenna. Or Conor. Or Dominic. Or any other librarian who was manning that area. They grounded him, things felt real because at any moment, he could talk to them, they could talk to him, anything, even when he was on binding duty. And of course there were patrons when he wasn't. But alone, isles out, rows back, things felt a little less, time chose its own meaning and pace.

It was while experiencing one of these aforementioned crises that Tyler found himself in the display section of the fiction. There was a wall of fiction, at the very back of the library, sectioned off into a smaller square by a shelf sticking out with a couple worn out chairs. Here, there were small stands which could hold one book, their own small showcase. Most people, upon finding one open, would just stick any old book out there, give the place the feel of a bookshop instead. Tyler wasn't most people, and Tyler formed his own habits.

These display stands, just in this corner, always had one sort of book: positive representation of the LGBT community. Plenty of books had negative leanings (see: Nixon conspiracy book that claimed he had homosexual relations with a mob boss while also routinely bashing the community), that wasn't difficult. He prided himself, however, in this small action, this small support and escape just in case. Typically they remained untouched, he's caught them being taken a few times, but those few times were enough to encourage him. None Of The Above, Ash, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, Grasshopper something or other, all decent books, more bordering on mediocre, but they were positive.

Typically they remained untouched though. On normal days where he took up the page duties at least. This apparently was no normal day.

It took him a moment to realize he had both zoned off and begun to stare at the man holding Simon vs. The Homo Sapiens Agenda, flicked to he front inside flap he, Tyler, himself, had affixed. _He's probably just curious, probably doesn't know, probably he doesn't usually come here, I don't think I've seen him before anyways._

This kid, man, guy. College aged guy. Whatever. Tyler would have remembered him if he had seen him in the past. You don't just forget someone with hair that colorful with a baseball hat that clashed so perfectly, with tattoos, tattoos like that, which peered out from under his sweater. Tyler doesn't just forget that sort of thing. _You're still staring at him?_

Right.

He takes a moment to shove away his dignity, the little voice that said, _'He's just looking, don't make a fool of yourself_ ', and the wave of nausea which washed over him midway through his first step toward him. Just clasp your hands, it's okay, this is genuine. You actually do want to help him find a book he could be interested in.

"Have you read either of her novels before? Becky Albertalli?" It may have been prudent to, earlier, make a bit more noise. Baseball Cap jumped and nearly dropped the book as he turned to face Tyler, wide eyed but otherwise unaffected by the sudden questioning.

He turns the book back and forth in his hand for a few seconds before actually responding, in a hushed tone,"Uh, no, but I've heard of her." Not a wordy guy. Or, at least, not immediately toward strangers. _This must be weird. This must be really weird for him. Why did I do this._

"She's pretty good. Her books so far have more revolved around the fact that her characters are gay, which is a little disappointing, that there isn't literature with passively gay characters but. Can I give you any recommendations?" _Just shut up. Shut up you're annoying him._

"Uh..." The guy raised his hand to the back of his head, fidgeting with the rim of his hat for a few seconds, once more, before responding. He took his time, it seemed, really considering whether he should ask or not, between his eyebrows lightly wrinkled. "Do you have any books with, uh... Non-romantic characters?"

Of course. He was sure of it. "There's... The Secret of Lost Things by Sheridan Hay, and... The Northern Clemency by Philip Hensher. Those are the two I remember off the top of my head." Tyler was off, hand tapping each row he searched through, skimming along spines until he got to HA, then HE. "They're at least asexual. In a lot of the novels with asexual characters, they don't show a lot of romanticism." He offers them over to the patron along with a little half smile.

Baseball Cap takes them both in one hand with a quiet thanks, flipping them over to scan the back cover. Well… maybe more than scan. The way he seemed to absorb and look at it all, not just the words, but the way he seemed to take in every serif, the color of the text and the background and the acclimations by critics renowned and obscure. After a second's pause in the conversation, filled, of course with loud thoughts on Tyler's part, the guy nods, handing one book back. "Thanks. The Secret of Lost Things seems pretty good. "

"Oh, it's no problem, hope you enjoy it."

And with that, accompanied by a respectful nod, the man left, heading over to the circulation desk to check out. He had a library card. He had been here before and- _He'll be back. Or something. He has to come back to return the book. I'll find his name out and we'll talk. It'll be... Sick._

The next couple hours until closing, Tyler was unable to wipe a grin from his face. Not that he wanted to. The whole thing was foolish, the excitement from finding someone, his small habit actually making a difference in someone's life. And the man would be back with his strawberry hair and Gogh tattoos.


End file.
